


These Times, They Are A-Changing

by alcmenne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Bromance, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Hogwarts, Marauders era, Multi, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Romance, Seventh year, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcmenne/pseuds/alcmenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Marauders are clever but clueless, James and Lily fall in love, and a war-struck world keeps on spinning. Pottermore canon included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Times, They Are A-Changing

"James!"

Damnation. Why does his dad have to rise with the bloody sun? Can't the bloody potions keep till noon?

"James Potter! Get your sorry arse downstairs!"

It's the lacewings. He wants me to get the bloody lacewings before the bloody potion turns orange or green or some other colour of the sodding rainbow. I'm going to off myself, I swear it…

He rolls blearily out of bed and staggers to the kitchen without bothering to wear his spectacles. The world looks better blurry when your cranium is on the verge of splitting apart.

"Oh, were you sleeping?" his father asks in tones of innocent surprise.

"I hate you." James slumps down into an empty chair at the breakfast table. He can't see a potion simmering anywhere, which means his father called him down just for sport.

"What? You're usually such an early riser! How was I supposed to know you were in bed?"

His mother's laughter sounds like trumpets blaring in his ear. Although… it's a bit odd that she's up. She's not the sort of person who needs an excuse to sleep in.

But James' alcohol-infused brain is soon presented with another problem to struggle with when his father presses a familiar metal flask into his hands.

The Potters are not particularly strict about underage drinking, but anyone choosing to imbibe before they're of age has to sober up the old-fashioned way. The vials of hangover potion that Fleamont Potter has locked up in his cupboard are for adults.

"What?" the sinner slurs, befuddled, but then decides to gulp it down before someone snatches the blessing from him.

The effect is instantaneous. James leans back in his chair, feeling his headache drain away, leaving him as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as someone with eight hours of sleep under their belt.

His parents have arranged themselves in chairs opposite him. His father has an arm slung around his mother and they're both beaming.

"You two are very cheery!" James says, flashing an incorrigible grin. "Considering you found your only son dead drunk on the living room floor. Shouldn't you be busily reading books on decent parenting?"

"We seem to be doing all right. How come Sirius didn't stay the night? He shouldn't Apparate when he's drunk," his mum says.

"He probably shouldn't, but Lord knows he's got enough practice. I suppose he doesn't like leaving his place empty all night. Like anyone would want to break into that pigsty."

"When are Peter and Remus com – ?"

"Next week. Are you trying to build the suspense or something? Just tell me."

"Albus sent a message," Fleamont says, his eyes twinkling. "The letters aren't going to come for some time yet, but he's chosen you for Head Boy."

James lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "And my arse is going to be Minister of Magic."

"It's a huge honour," his mum says reprovingly. There's no hint of levity in her voice.

Their unprecedented generosity with the hangover cure, the suffocating pride in their eyes…James' skin prickles with alarm. "You're not – you're not serious, are you? Dumbledore's not really going to make me Head Boy?"

"Yeah. Look, son, you know I don't usually care about things like this, but the Head Boy badge is something to be proud of." Fleamont leans across the table to grip James' shoulder.

"Why? Remus got Prefect two years ago and we all had a big laugh! You had a big laugh with us, Dad." James tries not to whine, but the plaintiveness keeps creeping into his voice.

"Head Boy is a little different." His mum's tone is gentle but firm. "It means Albus is – is testifying to your skill as a wizard, to your strength as a leader."

"It's a bore. I don't want to have to hand out detentions because Dumbledore chose to testify to my skill as a wizard and my strength as a sodding leader!"

His father straightens in his chair. "All right," he says almost sharply. "Now pay attention, son, this is important. Are you listening carefully? This is serious."

The atmosphere in the room has become business-like so quickly that James feels winded. He sits up and pays attention.

Fleamont clears his throat.

"You-Know-Who's getting more and more powerful every day. You know that your mother and I oppose everything he stands for –"

"So do I!"

"Yes, of course. And you know, also, that we can't rely on our Ministry to be much help. They've got their hearts in the right place, I suppose, but they're too official. You need freedom and spirit to defeat Voldemort, the kind that a government body doesn't have. Moreover, you need freedom and spirit under the wisest and cleverest leader possible."

"Which is Dumbledore. Obviously."

"Yes, exactly. So Dumbledore is organizing a body of – freedom fighters – called the Order of the Phoenix."

"A bit melodramatic, but there's Albus for you," his mum says.

"And you're part of the Order?" James demands eagerly.

"Not really. Too old. We're involved in the war effort, of course, as much as we can be. Anything we can do. But Dumbledore needs young people. We're too bloody old to be of any real use. Dumbledore could advertise for young fighters, but that's not how the Order works. It's very secretive, only his handpicked people. Being Head Boy means Dumbledore has his eye on you. So you can see why it's an honour, can't you?"

"But Dad," James says, "of course I'm going to fight. All of us are. We've already decided. Sirius and I talked about this yesterday –"

"Before or after you got pissed?" his dad interjects.

"There's nothing we want to do more than fight," James says loudly, ignoring the comment, "but I don't see how being Head Boy makes any difference. You know it doesn't. I can be a freedom fighter even if I don't have the stupid badge. I like raising hell with the boys. That doesn't mean I'm not serious about the – the cause, but do I really have to spend our last year at Hogwarts sitting around organizing stupid meetings about patrol duty?"

"It's just that this is Albus' personal vote of confidence. I wish you'd appreciate it more," his mum says desperately.

"We're not saying not to have fun. You're the one who said Dumbledore's got a sense of humour, but –" Fleamont begins.

"We want to fight, and we're all pretty good wizards. We're trustworthy and we wouldn't sell out to Voldemort even if he – he tortured us! I think Dumbledore will pick people on the basis of that for his Order." James rises to his feet. "Tell him to give the badge to somebody who wants it – oh, damnation, Moony probably wanted it!"

His parents sigh. "James, at least think about this for a moment."

"Tell him I vote for Moony."

James turns to go, but then hesitates.

"I don't want you to think…I'm glad Dumbledore thinks I could be Head Boy. You're right, it is an honour, but I'm happy with him just considering me for the job. Don't actually want it. Alright?"  
  
The boys lie sprawled on the floor of James' bedroom. Their letters are open in their lap, and a bright badge gleams on his chest.

xxx

"I look like a git," he says sullenly.

"Just a little bit," Remus says.

The laughter is more uproarious than the joke merits. James catches Sirius' eye and the latter nods. He had seen, also, the hurt that had flashed across Remus' face when the badge had tumbled into James' lap.

"Didn't your parents write Dumbledore saying you would be a shit Head Boy?" Peter asks.

"I told them to. They said they did. I thought Dumbledore would see reason!"

"He's a bit contradictory like that. Probably found it funny." Remus keeps his eyes fixed on the chocolate frog he's unwrapping.

"Mad as a hatter," Sirius says languidly. "But this could be a good thing…or an interesting thing, at least."

"Yeah. It'll probably save us all some detentions." Remus' chocolate frog seems to have fortified him. He's not the jealous type anyway, James muses. It's just that, of all them, Moony's the one who longs for Dumbledore's personal vote of confidence.

He gets absorbed in the hell-raising as much as any of them, though, and James always feels a quiet satisfaction when Remus forgets to worry about seeking validation from the rest of the world because he's too involved in worrying about the intricacies of their next plan. But will Remus be able to forget again, with the stupid badge perpetually glaring from James' chest?

"That's not what I meant. Ask me what I meant, Moony." Sirius demands their attention, stealing it from the badge.

"No."

"Wormtail, you ask me, because Moony's a spoilsport and a little bitch."

"Wormtail, don't ask him! I'll give you my five best cards."

"He'll just keep talking if I don't," Peter says despairingly.

"Ask him," counsels James. "We can get it over with."

"I meant," Sirius announces, "that I did some asking 'round, and Lily Evans is Head Girl."


End file.
